


The Spaces Left Between

by bloodofpyke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodofpyke/pseuds/bloodofpyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during a zombie AU, where Jeyne is Robb's estranged wife; Robb has just gone missing, and is presumed dead</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spaces Left Between

The air between them was thick with too many things to name, and he was tired of it all. He glanced up at her, dark curls tumbling down her back, Robb’s widow or ex widow or whatever the fuck they were, and he just wanted to sleep, wanted to refill his glass, wanted to run away from it all.

“I’m not in the mood to fight today, Greyjoy,” she said, dropping down next to him, knocking her shoulder against him.

“Fine,” he answered, the word falling flat in the space between them.

They sat, leaning against the cracked wallpaper, and watched the sunlight dance its way across the floor, watched the darkness take its place. “Have you-” Jeyne started to ask, her voice breaking off.

Theon shook his head. “You?” He returned, taking a long pull of his bottle.

“Not since-well, you know.”

He nodded. It was better than the alternative, and even as that thought crossed his mind, he reached down for the bottle and emptied it in one gulp. “I miss him.” The words burst out of him, ripped from his throat, raw and broken, and he couldn’t seem to find somewhere to look.

“I know, I do too,” the words were soft, softer than he’d expected, and he turned on her, angry, shaking his glass at her.

“No. No you fucking don’t understand. You guys were whatever, just fucking, you don’t get the _claim_ of him, you don’t get to carry a piece of him around like some fucking moping widow.” He was on his feet now, shouting, the blood pounding in his ears, and he couldn’t seem to focus. “You don’t fucking get that claim, okay, you barely even _knew_ him, _I_ was the one who-” 

He stopped, feeling the moisture prick his eyes. He was going to cry, was going to fucking _lose_ it in front of Robb’s whatever, so he kissed her. 

He snaked his tongue into her mouth and she bit down on his bottom lip, pulling him back down onto the floor, tangling her legs with his. Their clothes were torn off, tossed and crumpled into corners, his sweatshirt going first, the faded zip-up Robb had gotten him two birthdays ago.

She climbed on top of him, his hands skimming to her hips while hers trailed down his chest, stopping at his heart, his heartbeat drumming into her fingertips, mirroring their rhythm. His grip tightened and strayed, tracing bruises onto her hips, onto her waist, onto her ribs and she abandoned his heart, scratching blood red trails down his chest, their eyes locked onto each other, hollowed and unseeing.

His name hung between them, forcing them further apart, forcing them closer, like a prayer better left unsaid, and they grabbed at it, neither wanting to be left with nothing in the end. It was over within minutes, the alcohol coursing through their veins doing nothing to prologue it, the strangest memorial even now, when walkers roamed the streets and nothing was concrete.

She walked into the bathroom when it was done, her thighs sticky with something that felt like betrayal, felt like guilt, felt like _release._ By the time she came back, Theon had struggled back into his boxers and hoodie, clutching a bottle like a lifesaver, head tipped against the wall. 

“Where was I? If he’s dead, I should have-” He stopped a moment, dragging his hand across his eyes. “I should have fucking been with him.”


End file.
